


Yes

by schneestern



Category: Bandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneestern/pseuds/schneestern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob and Vicky meet at a party and hook up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on the occasion of [](http://quarterturn.livejournal.com/profile)[quarterturn](http://quarterturn.livejournal.com/)'s birthday and used to be a part of a "Five People Bob Bryar had sex with" fic that never really worked the way I wanted it to. Beta thanks to [](http://sunktheglow.livejournal.com/profile)[sunktheglow](http://sunktheglow.livejournal.com/).

They're formally introduced at a Decaydance event that masks as a business get-together, but is actually just an excuse to get stupidly drunk.

He knows her already. She looks different than that night at the club a few years back, when she'd slid into the booth next to him, easy smile and said, “D'you want to go to the bathroom?”, intent clear in the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. He'd declined, politely; he hadn't been looking for anything back then, not for the kind of thing she offered. Bob still remembers the considering look she gave him, like she was trying to figure out if he was playing hard to get or if he actually meant it.

She ended up ordering herself another beer and sat next to Bob for the rest of the evening, like she had come there with him, like they were just two friends enjoying some pretty kickass music.

He looks at her now, the way she holds her glass away from her body and smiles politely at him and wonders what could have been.

Pete's drunk already when he mumbles the introductions - Bob can tell by the way his eyes dart over to where Patrick's uncomfortably sitting in a stuffy armchair on the other side of the room. Bob feels weird being introduced to her like a stranger, but Pete's intent on both being a good host and getting this over with as quickly as possible.

“Bob Bryar, world famous drummer of My Chemical Romance, meet Vicky-T of Cobra Starship fame, best keytarist in the universe.”

Before either of them have the chance to tell Pete that they know each other already, Pete gives Vicky a tiny kiss on the cheek clearly aimed at her mouth, but missing by a good couple of inches. Then he's gone, weaving his way through the crowd.

Vicky raises an eyebrow at Bob and smiles. “Your hair changed.”

It sounds as if she had meant to say something else entirely and seems surprised at her own words. Bob's just glad she remembered him at all; he isn't sure what he would have done if she hadn't.

“You want another drink?” he asks her, gesturing at her mostly empty glass. When she nods, he offers her his arm. Vicky laughs and lets him escort her to the bar. They fall into an easy, comfortable conversation about music and their bands.

When she asks him the question a few hours later, both of them pleasantly buzzed, Bob says _yes_ without having to think about it.

They end up sprawled in the guest bedroom on top of everyone's coats. Thinking about the people the coats belong to, Bob feels a little bad, because he fucking hates it when he finds random stains on his jacket after a party.

“Hey,” Vicky says and taps her finger against his chin, small smile on her lips, “You didn't actually want to do this in the bathroom, right?” Bob echoes her smile and shakes his head because he's definitely not having sex in Pete Wentz's bathroom. He knows better by now.

Bob carefully tugs Vicky further up the bed, leans down to give her a quick kiss. She wraps her legs around his waist, rolls her hips a little and fuck yeah. Bob groans and Vicky smiles at him.

“Less clothing?”

“Definitely,” Bob says and pulls at her thin blouse, careful not to rip off buttons in his haste. He concentrates so hard on it that he almost doesn't notice Vicky undoing his belt, then sliding his zipper down. He definitely _does_ notice when she slips her hand into his underwear and firmly wraps it around his dick, barely losing a beat before starting to jerk him off.

“Jesus fuck,” Bob moans and ends up ripping the last button off of Vicky's blouse. It tumbles over the side of the bed and disappears.  
  
She laughs in his ear, kisses his temple and says, “Get with the program, Bob Bryar.”

They decide to actually separate long enough to get rid of the rest of their clothes. Bob fumbles with his socks a lot more than necessary, but Vicky is polite enough not to laugh at him, just pulls him down on top of her again when they’re both naked. He settles over her and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, holds him close for a kiss, his dick smearing wetness across her belly.

“You got a condom?” Bob feels weird for asking but he doesn’t have one on him at all times, even if he suspects that it’s what women expect of rockstars.

“Oh,” Vicky says and squirms a bit, smooth skin sliding against Bob’s dick. “I thought you--”

They look at each other with wide eyes, because they should have probably thought of this _before_ they got naked.

Bob blinks once, twice, before his brain kicks in, then he stretches aside and clumsily pulls open the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. Sure enough, there’s condoms and lube and Bob really does not see that gay porn magazine beneath all of it, really. He wonders if all of Pete’s guest rooms are equipped like this.

“How did you know that?” Vicky looks at him with a mixture of awe and suspicion on her face. Bob realizes how it must look and grins. “This is a bedroom. In a house owned by Pete Wentz. I just thought I’d give it a shot.” He shrugs.

Vicky’s laugh is bright and easy. Her breasts rub enticingly against Bob’s chest and just like that he remembers that they are actually here to have sex, not to make jokes at their host’s expense. He fishes a condom out of the drawer and, for the moment, drops it on the bed next to them.

There's a distinct pause where neither of them move, not until Bob slides a hand between their bodies, his fingers trailing over Vicky's cunt. He slips one inside of her and crooks it a little, just so. Vicky makes a small choked off noise and presses up against his hand.

“More,” she says, and starts nipping at his throat, hands moving up and down his naked back.

Bob slips a second finger in with the first, twists them a bit and spreads them apart. Vicky keens and arches up against his body, skin sliding against skin. There’s a stray strand of hair sticking to her damp forehead and Bob leans down to kiss her again, just a soft press of lips.

“Are you--,” he begins but Vicky glares at him and says, “Don’t ruin my sex by asking me if I’m okay. Jesus. You’re too nice for your own good.”

Bob’s not quite sure what to say to that, but it turns out he doesn’t have to say anything at all. Vicky wraps a hand around the back of his neck, fingers scratching over the soft hair there and leans in for another kiss, slow licks of tongue and wet slide of lips.

“Just fuck me, okay? I promise not to break.” There’s a genuine smile on her face, one that makes something warm coil in Bob’s belly and he grins.

“I can do that.”

He pulls his fingers out of her and tries to rip the condom wrapper open, but his fingers keep slipping on it until Vicky takes it away from him and neatly tears it open. She pushes at his chest until he moves up, holding himself over her body with his arms.

Even though he knows it’s coming, her fingers around his dick make him groan and he has to force himself not to buck his hips into the touch. Vicky rolls the condom on quickly and then touches the tips of her fingers to his hip, strokes the skin at the crease of his thigh. There’s a slightly distant look in her eyes, like she’s thinking of something. Bob can see it the moment she realizes it herself, eyes coming up to meet his. She squeezes his hip tightly when she says, “Sorry.”

She doesn’t sound like she really means it, but it’s not like Bob minds anyway.

When she takes her hand away, he picks up where they left off, kisses her on the lips and then bends lower, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. He slides his tongue over it until it’s hard and Vicky's restlessly moving underneath him. He wraps a hand around his dick and guides it to her cunt, waits for her to nod, because even if she said she wouldn’t break, Bob’s still not an asshole who rushes stuff like this. There’s always enough time for proper bedside manners.

He takes his time, the head of his dick slipping into her with the barest hint of resistance and then it’s one smooth slide until he’s all the way in. He pauses, concentrates on his breathing to give them both time to adjust.

Vicky digs the pads of her fingers into the muscles in his back, tilts her hips a little and wraps her legs around Bob’s waist. And it’s not like it didn't feel good before, but this angle is just right and Bob bites down on the question he was going to ask and just starts moving.

It takes them a bit to work up a rhythm that makes them both gasp, but that’s good too, having to work for it to make it feel just right. Vicky’s biting at the side of Bob’s neck, probably leaving bruises and she moves her hips easily, pushing Bob to move faster, fuck her deeper.

It’s been a while since Bob’s hooked up with anyone and he’s close already, a hot feeling curling through his body. He brings his hand up to his mouth, waits for Vicky’s eyes to meet his. He licks his thumb until it’s wet and slides his hand between them again, starts to rub her clit.

Vicky actually mutters, “Motherfucker,” in a throaty voice and maybe Bob would laugh about it under different circumstances, but right now he bites his lip to keep from saying something stupid and strokes her harder.

He tries to match the two rhythms up, concentrating on his thumb moving in firm, easy circles with his cock sliding in and back out with every roll of his hips. He’s distantly aware of it when Vicky slides a hand down his ass, but he’s still not prepared for the feeling when she trails a finger down between his ass cheeks, rubbing at his hole like she knows exactly what it does to him.

Bob’s hips snap forward hard and Vicky makes a surprised noise, shuddering against him. She gasps something that sounds vaguely like his name but with more vowels in it and then she’s coming, clenching tight around his dick. He watches her face as he slowly fucks her through it, thumb light on her clit until the crease on her forehead evens out and she begins to twitch under his touch, too sensitive now. He takes his hand away and puts it next to her head on the bed, bracing himself.

“You can, you know--” she starts and then trails off, firmly putting both her hands on his lower back, tugging him down and that’s really all the encouragement Bob needs.

Without consciously thinking about it, he starts moving his hips in quicker, sharper thrusts, uneven and a little off-kilter now, with her still so tight around his dick. He bends his head down, pants against her collarbone like he’s run a hundred miles already. Vicky’s hands knead the muscles in his back and he feels how soft and relaxed her body is under his, now that she’s come down a little.

In the end it doesn’t take him much longer than her. When he comes his whole body jerks forward and he sloppily kisses her to make up for his heavy weight on top of her. She strokes a hand through his hair until his breathing slows and it’s oddly rough, strands of his hair clinging to her fingertips.

Bob presses one more kiss to her lips and then pulls out, ties the condom, and throws it in the general direction of the trash can in the corner. He misses, of course, but figures that it can’t be worse than having sex on everyone’s coats.

For a while they just lie side by side, breathing. Vicky’s fingers circle around Bob’s wrist in a slow caress that reminds him that he should be a bit more careful. Already there's the slow, rolling pain that he gets when he's put too much strain on his wrists. There's also the zipper of a coat that's digging into Bob's shoulder and he'll have to move soon or he's going to feel it for the rest of the week.

Nevertheless, he stays exactly where he is and stares at the ceiling, listening to the noises from the party, Vicky shifting around next to him.

“Let’s go back downstairs,” she finally says, letting go of his wrist when she sits up. “You can get me a new drink and then give me your phone number, so we can do this again sometime.”

Bob looks at her and startles both of them by laughing.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.” And he means it.


End file.
